


Racing

by hummerhouse



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003)
Genre: M/M, Turtlecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 10:46:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1547855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hummerhouse/pseuds/hummerhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disclaimer: The TMNT are not mine. No money being made.<br/>Word Count: 3,374 One shot<br/>Rating: PG-13 TCest, language<br/>Pairing: Raph/Don</p>
            </blockquote>





	Racing

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by this marvelous piece of art created by MomoRawrr.  
> 

            The roar of engines pierced the darkness and Raph wondered randomly why it seemed that the sound was so much louder at night than during the day.  Could the sun absorb sound and the moon simply reflect it?  He might bring that up to Donny some day and see how the genius managed such an esoteric concept.

            Raph was seated sideways on his parked motorcycle, his long muscular legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles.  His visor was up, but even in the darkness he didn’t remove the helmet because in a few seconds the flash of headlights would reveal him.

            Sitting just beyond the hand-made quarter mile marker, Raph watched the combatants pulling into position.  Across from him on the other side of the abandoned airplane runway, two young men sat on the hood of their car.  They were the official spotters for this race; Raph was there to break a tie.

            He’d discovered this little band of street racers a couple of months previously and the thrill of the sport infected him immediately.  It was dangerous and illegal, but he’d been drawn to this particular group because they didn’t actually race in the ‘street’.  They never put civilians at risk; around New York City there were plenty of places to race that were closed off to the public.

            Of course the trespassing they did in order to race on tracks like this runway didn’t fall into the category of legal activity any more than the racing itself.  It didn’t stop them though; the adrenaline rush and the bragging rights overcame their fear of the law tenfold.  That and the prospect of making a goodly amount of pocket money.

            Or walking away with someone else’s pink slip.  That was the ultimate bet of course and Raph appreciated that aspect of street racing as much as anything else.  It was like watching someone go all in at a poker tournament, only here the prize meant more to the loser than mere money would have.  With such high stakes on the line, Raph found that he was hooked.

            Mostly he just watched, a lone observer perched on the outskirts of activity.  He didn’t mingle with the groups of people that could sometimes grow to as many as a hundred on a given night.  They dressed plainly, mostly jeans and tee shirts, even the girls although there weren’t a lot of them.  The ones that were there were with a man usually, but the occasional loner showed up.

            Like himself, they were an oddity.  At first he didn’t know what to make of them, by the looks of their cars they weren’t there to race.  After a while he came to understand that they were there for the companionship and had a genuine love of the sport.

            There was no show boating, no glamour.  In movies, street racing was all shine and glitz, in real life it was dark.  Other than where they gathered before moving on to the designated racing spot for the night, they did nothing to call attention to themselves.  Such a thing would have been counter-productive; it would have led the cops right to them.

            After a while, the group got used to Raph’s mysterious presence.  They stopped eyeing the large guy who kept his entire body, including his head, completely covered at all times, even on the warmest nights.  His bike drew them like moths to a flame; Donatello’s handiwork was a thing of beauty and hard to ignore.

            When they asked him questions he answered readily enough and it was his knowledge of engines that kept them coming back.  Now when he rode into the parking lot where they gathered on the weekend nights, the group greeted him warmly.  He often found himself in a small circle of people, talking racing and engines, sometimes girls if none happened to be nearby at the moment.

            He could appear knowledgeable on that subject as well, having shared living quarters with April for a time.  Other than hiding his appearance, nothing about him seemed abnormal and he was completely accepted by this small group.  A time or two he even experienced what it was like to have a girl flirt with him, drawn in by the mystery and his deep, mesmerizing voice.

            Raph found that kind of attention humorous and even enjoyed playing word games with them, seeing how far they could go with hints and innuendos, before the girl would either give up or break down and ask him out.  Since his heart belonged to his brothers, Raph could honestly say he was spoken for.

            No one got a look beneath his visor and they never would.  Since it didn’t seem to be of major importance to anyone, Raph stopped worrying about it.  He was a part of their group now and they were the kind of people who didn’t judge you beyond whether you knew the difference between a small block and a big block engine, about torque, stroke, and a slant six.  If you could speak their language, you were one of them.  Raph belonged.

            Sometimes Raph thought about bringing Donatello with him, especially on nights when a car blew an engine or a tire went squirrely on the track.  That’s why no one lined the track to watch a race; experienced drivers could manage to pull the car safely to the side most times, but there were occasions when the car crashed and burned.

            So far no one was ever seriously hurt and fire extinguishers took care of burning automobiles.  The loss was dealt with philosophically by the car owner; after all, they knew what they were getting into when they chose to race.

            Don could really get caught up in this, Raph knew.  This love of a well-tuned engine, brimming with power and speed was something they shared.  Bringing the genius out with him some night was probably inevitable, but for now, Raph enjoyed having this all for himself.

            On very rare occasions, someone looking to race showed up on a motorcycle.  Motorcycles did not race cars; they were not at all evenly matched.  The first time someone wanted to race his bike, Raph’s group had to wheedle and cajole him to get him to accept the challenge.  He hadn’t ever thought about racing anyone; he didn’t want to be the center of that kind of attention.

            Then the guy had pulled two hundred bucks from his pocket and offered it as enticement.  Raph just so happened to have that much on him; he’d been trying to save up for something Don really needed.  Four hundred would buy it for the genius, with a little left over just in case.

            So Raph had said yes and handed his cash over to the guy holding the money.  As he pulled up to the line, spinning his tires to heat them up, Raph knew that all eyes were on him.  His group had been wondering for quite some time just exactly what Raph’s bike could do.

            They found out in a most spectacular way.  Not sure what the other guy had, Raph opened it up wide when the flag was dropped.  Afterwards, they told him he was moving so fast all they could see was a flash of red when he came off the line.

            He’d crossed the finish before the other motorcycle even reached the halfway point of the quarter mile.  Raph wasn’t sure what excited him more; winning the money for Don or the rush of the challenge.  Probably it was both.

            Pushing his bike that way had of course put some stress on it, which Don immediately noticed.  Although Raph didn’t tell Leo or Mikey where he spent his time, he did tell Don.  He had to admit where the money had come from to purchase the thing Don had needed.  A look of concern and quiet gratitude were etched equally on Don’s face at the end of the story.  As he usually did, Don didn’t tell him what to do beyond asking that Raph be careful.

            Breaking from his reverie, Raph watched the headlights on two cars bounce upwards as they leaped off the starting line.  They appeared evenly matched partway through the race and then the GTO outpaced the Camaro, zooming into a full car length lead.

            There was no need for a tie breaking decision at the end of this one.  The racers and spotters all headed back to the starting position, Raph on his bike bringing up the rear.

            Laughter and loud conversation met the two racers when they returned.  Raph parked his bike and leaned forward onto the handle bar as he watched the two men shake hands.  This race had been for a little money, nothing extravagant, it probably was enough to pay for gasoline and an oil change.  Raph knew how expensive it was to keep up with a high performance engine and he also knew that these people raced for the thrill; the heavy cost meant little to them.

            Raph was talking to a friend when three motorcycles pulled into the airport and rode in a line towards them.  Sitting up straight, Raph ran a practiced eye over the newcomers.

            “Maybe you’re gonna get some action tonight, big guy,” Benny told him.

            “Yeah, maybe,” Raph said, waiting to see what would happen.

            Since his first victory, he hadn’t been challenged much, but those who did were showing up with bigger and meaner machines each time.

            Parking their bikes, the trio dismounted and made straight for Raph.  The small racing group immediately quieted and followed them, sensing a challenge in the offing.

            “Nice bike,” one of them said as an opener.

            “Thanks,” Raph returned, saying nothing further.

            It appeared they had heard of his eccentricities, because beyond a tiny frown line, the monosyllabic answer didn’t seem to faze the guy.

            “I heard you sometimes run her,” the first one said, apparently the spokesman for the group.  “You up for that tonight?”

            “Could be,” Raph said.

            It was customary at this point to ask what the other was riding and to actually walk over and take a look at it, but Raph never bothered.  He figured that the only bike that could beat what Don had built would have to be another of Donatello’s creations and he knew the other guy wasn’t riding anything like that.

            The challenger’s face twitched into a tiny smile.  “Depends what I’m offering, right?” he asked.

            They couldn’t see Raph’s return grin, but they could hear it in his voice.  “That’s usually a good start,” he said.  “I’m listening.”

            “Let’s go for papers,” the man said.  “You win, you get my bike.  I win . . . .”

            “Ya’ get mine,” Raph finished for him.

            “Are you up for that?” the man asked.

            “Sure, why not?  I was starting ta get a little bored anyway,” Raph said.

            As the man started back to his bike, Benny leaned over and asked in a low voice, “Don’t you want to take a look at his ride first?”

            “Nope,” Raph said, starting his motorcycle.  “That would take all the fun out of it.”

            Pulling up to the line, Raph glanced over at his challenger.  His motorcycle looked sleek and powerful, a jet black dream that had cost its owner a pretty penny.

            For another minute the smell of burning rubber permeated the air and Raph got a chance to hear the other motorcycle’s engine rev.  It too sounded as though money had been dumped into it so that the bike would have the best of everything.

            As they waited for the flag, Raph experienced the familiar heady feeling of adrenaline begin to course through his veins.  The grin on his face turned into a wide smile and his heart started to beat faster.  This was the kind of thrill he got from beating down bad guys, fighting alien captors, or whipping mutated creatures.

            Raphael felt completely alive as he revved his bike to a higher rpm just before the flag came down and he popped the clutch.

            His faster reflexes took him out to a quick lead and usually all he had to do was keep her partially open to hold onto it.  This time however, his challenger caught him in the first couple of seconds and started to pass.

            Leaning down, Raph pushed his throttle wide and his bike leaped forward.  He could hear the other bike do the same and from the corner of his eye, Raph caught a glimpse of the other motorcycles front tire.

            Gritting his teeth, Raph practically flattened himself across his bike, cutting the wind resistance as much as possible.  His heart had climbed into his throat as his eyes fixed on the finish line, sensing more than seeing the other bike drawing closer to him.

            Raph was riding all out, using every ounce of power he could squeeze out of his baby.  He could see the other rider now; all in black just like his bike, leaning as far down as Raph was.

            A few seconds more or a longer track and Raph might have been walking home.  As it was, he crossed the finish mere inches ahead of his competitor.

            Raph could feel the aftereffects of such a large surge of adrenaline flowing through his body, making him jumpy and ecstatic all at once.  As he coasted slower, he let a roar of accomplishment fill his lungs and slip past his lips.

            Turning the bike, he headed back to the start.  Riding next to him was his challenger, keeping pace as they pulled up to the cheering crowd.

            “Best ride I’ve seen in months,” someone said in Raph’s ear, pounding him on the back as he shut off the engine.

            Climbing off his bike Raph walked over to his challenger, who stood beside his motorcycle, helmet in hand.  He turned a grin on Raph and held out his other hand.

            As Raph accepted the handshake, the man said, “Good ride.  I almost had you.”

            “Almost don’t count unless it’s horseshoes or hand grenades,” Raph said good-naturedly.

            The man threw back his head to laugh and then whipped out the title to his bike.

            “This baby belongs to you now,” he said.  “If you plan on scrapping her, please do me a favor and don’t tell me about it.”

            For a split second, Raph thought about not accepting the title.  The man had raced well and he was a good sport.

            But then he realized that it wasn’t the bike that was important to the man, it was his honor.  Just as Raph would have expected to hand over his motorcycle if he lost, he knew this man did as well.

            Taking the title and folding it into his jacket pocket, Raph said, “Thanks.  I ain’t gonna scrap her, either.  She’s too sweet a ride.”

            The man laughed again and tossed Raph the keys, following his buddies to their motorcycles and climbing on behind one of them.  He didn’t even look back as they sped away.

            “Holy shit, Raph!” Benny exclaimed as he slid up next to his friend.  “I fucking thought you were gonna bite it at the end.”

            “Yeah, me too Benny,” Raph said.  “Ya’ think your girlfriend will let ya’ ride this back into the city for me?  I wanna take the bike someplace close ta where my brother lives and then he can take her the rest of the way.”

            “Sure, no problem,” Benny said agreeably.

            They made a procession back to a neighborhood not far from the lair; Raph in the lead, Benny on the new bike, and Benny’s girlfriend bringing up the rear.  Raph and Benny shook hands as they parted company; with Benny shouting a reminder to Raph as to where they’d be gathering the following weekend.  Raph waved as he drove off.

            Hiding the new motorcycle in an alley, Raph headed for the garage.  He still felt juiced up from the adrenaline rush he’d gotten during the race and he drove fast, leaning dangerously into curves as nerves sang all over his body.

            Donatello heard the sound of Raph’s bike before the doors to the garage opened and he shut off the torch he was using.  Stepping back from his workbench, he pushed his goggles onto his forehead, setting the torch down as he listened to the idling engine on Raph’s motorcycle just before his brother killed the ignition.

            “You had a race,” Don stated with assurance, picking a wrench off the table and walking over to Raph, not bothering to wipe the grease off his hands.

            Raph lifted the helmet from his head, the cool air hitting his face refreshing after having worn the thing all night.  His mask was damp and he pulled it down, letting it dangle from his neck.

            “I didn’t just have a race, Donny,” Raph said, his manner exhilarated.  “I had a bitch of a challenge.”

            Don smiled and squatted next to the motorcycle, his practiced eyes running over it.

            “It must have been, I could hear a cylinder missing as you rode in,” Don told him.

            “Shit Donny, she was running for her life tonight,” Raph explained excitedly.  He was stripping out of his disguise as he talked, tossing the clothes behind him in an off-hand manner.  “I got us another bike!  It’s a damn sweet ride, you’re gonna love her.  She damn near beat me.”

            “How near is ‘damn near’?” Don asked curiously.  “And how did you end up with another bike?”

            Raph slipped out of his pants, kicking them halfway across the garage.  “About the width of a tire tread, bro’.  We were racing for titles and the guy handed her over ta me without a fight.  I sorta didn’t want ta take it after that, but I didn’t wanna disrespect him by turning it down.”

            Don glanced up and saw the animated flash in Raph’s golden eyes.  His brother’s entire body seemed to be singing with some kind of electrical charge and it spilled over to affect Don as well.

            “Honor,” Don said, his voice low.

            “That’s it bro’.  Honor,” Raph said.  “Ain’t no contracts out there, your word is your bond.  Ya’ make a habit of not keeping it and ya’ might as well stay home ‘cause no one will race against ya’.  By the way, ya’ gotta go with me ta get the other bike, I got someone ta ride it partway here and then I hid it in an alley.”

            He was bent over near Don, inspecting the bike as he talked, his tail twitching from side to side.  Stimulated by Raph’s enthusiasm, Don reached up and wrapped his hand around his brother’s wiggling appendage.

            The effect was immediate.  Raph spun around and grasped Don’s belt, lifting him to his feet and pushing him against a wall.  He moved so fast that Don still retained his grip on the wrench.

            Arms hanging uselessly by his sides, Don succumbed completely to the passionate kiss his brother pressed against his mouth.  Eyes closed, Don tilted his pelvis forward as he offered himself completely, feeling Raph’s knee as it pushed aggressively between Don’s legs.

            Raph pressed further into Don, close enough to feel his brother’s racing heartbeat.  It was then that he learned something new about the genius.

            The adrenaline rush that Raph got from danger was something he loved; the feeling of power that it gave him was a massive thrill.  A challenge made his blood burn and sent a quiver of anticipation throughout his entire body.

            Being possessed by Raph’s passion did the same thing to Donatello.  Teasing the hot head into a frenzy was Don’s way of courting danger.

            Raph laughed against his brother’s mouth at that revelation, then surged forward again, even more aggressive than before.

            If this was Don’s adrenaline fix, then Raph was determined to make it as fulfilling as possible.  After all, Raph owed the genius for providing him with the means to achieve his own fix.

            Not to mention the fact that Don’s racing pulse and heartbeat was every bit as alluring as a fast moving motorcycle.

            Truth be told, this kind of racing with Don was much better.


End file.
